


Everything You Never Wanted - Interludes

by AotA



Series: Resonance [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Accidental Death, Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Bigotry & Prejudice, Corruption, Established Relationship, GFY, Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious Cruelty, Other, Police, Slavery, Spiritual Rebirth, Systematic Abuse, Systematic Cruelty, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AotA/pseuds/AotA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Interludes and Side Stories for the Resonance Series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Terminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. A mech getting run over with a bus off screen, nothing special. Some more fluff.

Smokescreen sat on a chair while Prowl slumped on the floor. The perp that Prowl had chased down earlier in the orn had been unusually heavy armed. Prowl had been lucky that the mech had only managed to graze him instead of punching a hole through Prowl's sensor wing, no matter how much it hurt. Smokescreen's hands were gentle as they used tools to clean the scoring and remove all the signs of charring and deformed metal. Prowl hissed as Smokescreen probed the surroundings of the wound where a thin tracery of cracks splintered outward, searching for weaknesses in his sensor wing's plating.

"Sorry," he murmured soothingly but he didn't stop working. The sooner the wound was cleaned, the sooner self-repair could start working properly, and the sooner Prowl would recover. Prowl was wound tighter than a tensor cable. When he was done, Smokescreen ran his hand lightly over the cleaned but still damaged wing, careful not to hit any sensors that would fill Prowl with pain from his injury. He might be done with his work, but there was something else he could do to help ease the pain and speed along Prowl's repairs.

Smokescreen pulled out something out of subspace that he had been waiting to give to Prowl as a gift but had been trying to wait for the right moment to offer it. It was a simple white box, completely unmarked, but the real gift was inside. Carefully, Smokescreen unsealed the lid, and immediately a distinctive scent wafted outward. From the way that Prowl straightened, head turning, he knew that his Core's olfactory sensors had picked it up too. It was a sharp, new-metal scent.

"Smokescreen?" Prowl asked, optics wide, focused on the shifting, shimmering pool of silver nanites in the box.

"It was going to be a gift," Smokescreen said, dipping a thin paddle into the container, "but I think this is a better cause than waiting, no?" The paddle was made of a special non-conducting metal so as to not accidentally bind the nanites to his own energy field or frame. He removed it from the box and lifted it to Prowl's injured wing. Smokescreen began filling in the cracks first, the cool, strange sensation causing Prowl to shudder slightly at the nanites went to work. This particular grade of nanites was rather high for mechs of their standing as they didn't simply repair damage. They numbed pain, repaired damage, and then melded seamlessly with the rest of the mech's coloring, if the area they were repairing was a single color. For a little while they would be weak, but soon they would be as strong as new, strengthening an overall structure if they were high enough quality. On Enforcers like themselves it was easy enough to match since their coloring nanites were all programed to a simple gloss white.

"A most... appreciated gift," Prowl said, the rest of his frame flinching when Smokescreen began filling in the pitted scores.

Smokescreen chuckled, "You don't sound very appreciative."

Prowl snorted but hissed again as the cool nanites were coated onto the insides of the worst of the wound. "I am. Trust me. Just hard to _sound_ like it when actually being worked on at the moment." He let out a grating sound as Smokescreen pressed against the wound, sealing the nanites beneath a clear coating, but then relaxed nearly completely when the nanites began doing their job. He sighed in relief, silver streaked wing pressing against Smokescreen's open palm, _"Thank you,_ my Wing."

Smokescreen pressed an air light affectionate caress against Prowl's wing tip. "I like taking care of you." He slowly moved his way across Prowl's wing, skirting the silver-streaked spots. When he reached Prowl's back, he swapped his hand for nuzzling Prowl's neck, "Always have."

"Liar," Prowl said lightly, teasingly.

Smokescreen hummed in amusement, "Oh alright, I admit it. I didn't always know you, so therefore I didn't _always._ I am a liar." He lightly traced teasing, aimless patterns against the surface Prowl's uninjured sensor wing with the very tip of his finger, making it flutter away from his touch and back into it.

"And a tease too," Prowl murmured, optics dimming.

"And a tease too," Smokescreen agreed happily, feeling Prowl's systems slowing down, "Going to recharge here on the floor?"

"Hmm?" Prowl's optics brightened a little, "...Ah. I shouldn't." Despite Smokescreen's disappointment at needing to move, when Prowl made a move to rise, the Wing stood and offered his hand, dragging the tired mech to his pedes. Somehow, they wound up in an embrace, Prowl's arms wrapping around Smokescreen's chassis to steady himself, and Smokescreen's arms thrown over Prowl's shoulders.

Prowl stared at him for a moment, but then he slowly lowered his helm to rest against the top of Smokescreen's shoulder, nuzzling closer. "Tired," Prowl whispered, leaning against him.

"My berth _is_ right over there," Smokescreen reminded Prowl after a moment of checking the Enforcer's comm nets, "and the Commandant isn't going to be coming around for several joor at least."

"Mmm..." Prowl nodded his helm slightly, fingers absently stroking in small circles against Smokescreen's lower back.

Smokescreen laughed lowly, "Okay, you've had enough. I get it." He slowly walked Prowl backward until the backs of his legs were touching the edge of the berth and helped him lay down on it. Nudging his Core over, Smokescreen sidled onto the berth, arms wrapping around Prowl and holding him close. Despite Prowl's tiredness, caused in part by the mech's workaholic tendencies of previous orns, part by hard orn that had just ended, and part by the nanites siphoning his energy for healing, Smokescreen was near to purring from being able to hold his Core so close. They weren't able to find much time together recently. Smokescreen had just gotten a promotion and that had only left them with even less time together than usual.

He lifted his head and whispered into Prowl's audial like he was sharing a secret, "Love you."

Prowl's EM field wrapped around him, and Smokescreen felt Prowl's systems fall completely into recharge.

* * *

When Smokescreen came out of recharge, the first thing that he noticed was that Prowl was missing from the berth. The next thing that he noticed was that Prowl was stalking back and forth across his room, a data pad held in one hand as he worked on it furiously with the other. Smokescreen sighed, disappointed but not very surprised. That was his Prowl: workaholic extraordinaire. He propped his helm up on his hands, tilted slightly to the side, watching the faintly agitated twitch of Prowl's sensor wings. When Prowl swung by again with his uninjured sensor wing on the leading side, he reached out and gently grasped the edge of it, effortlessly derailing Prowl's pacing before he wore a path in the reinforced plating of the floor. "What has you in such a bad mood already?" Smokescreen asked lazily to Prowl's stiff back.

"Commandant Blacklist's new _aide_ ," Prowl said flatly, but he was nearly vibrating with restrained wrath, "is the spawn of the Unmaker and should be struck from existence as an aberration in the natural order."

Smokescreen let go of Prowl's wing and sat up, shocked by Prowl's level of fury. "Whoa... What did he _do?"_

Prowl thrust to data pad at him and resumed pacing, fists clenching and unclenching into fitfully. With trepidation, Smokescreen began to read. At first it didn't seem like anything special, besides being a rather dry read, but then Smokescreen's reading came to a screeching halt.

_...new teams will replace the obsolete ones. The obsolete Enforcers will be decommissioned and the resources from their scrapping will be put used for funds. The most profits will be made if the highest quality parts are separated out for sale and the rest melted down for base metals..._

The report clinically went into gruesomely excruciating detail on how each and every piece of them could be put to use. Smokescreen shuddered. Slant Shot _had_ to go if this was what he was going to try to do... They were just lucky it wasn't Blacklist that was the one to come up with this. "The Elder's already seen this... plan?" The word was said like a vile curse.

Prowl gave a stiff nod. "He passed it on to Downlink as we have the most clade-members here, and Downlink wants all of us to attempt to contact one of the other Enforcer contingents." 

"Us" as in Cores, Smokescreen assessed. And their Wings too. "Are we wanting to make it look like an accident?" Smokescreen asked neutrally, "Standard protocols?"

Prowl shook his head, "We decided that an accident would be best, but if need be, we would have something staged."

Spread the news that Slant Shot was a danger and needed to be vanished, and soon. They couldn't do anything about this directly, but if they could get into contact with Enforcers in a different contingent, a contingent that was _not_ under Blacklist or Slant Shot's influence... Staging the mech's death would be difficult as usually it was hard enough thinking even as far as getting word out to other contingents. Further processing was mostly partitioned in a lateral thought path that was one of the ways that they thought traitorous things that they shouldn't be able to and follow through, even when they are not entirely sure why they are doing certain things.

That Prowl was able to say something like that out loud was a shocking reminder of the loosening of the obedience code. __

"Really?" Smokescreen said, a little surprised for a moment, but then he nodded. "It makes sense," he muttered. Most mechs weren't usually directly out to extinguish them. Slant Shot looked like he was out for nothing but.

* * *

In a tragic accident the Commandant's new assistant, Slant Shot, died despite attempts to save him after a run-in with a mass transit vehicle.

* * *

When Soundcloud showed up the next orn both Prowl and Smokescreen greeted the news as it was certainly welcome, but they really hadn't expected their current bane to be run over by a bus. After asking a few more questions, Prowl dismissed his Voice.

"So... Was that planned?" Smokescreen asked curiously, unsure. It seemed rather fast for a response from one of the other contingents.

"Not so far as I am aware," Prowl said, a baffled note in his voice, "No matter how fortuitous it was."

"Huh." Smokescreen shared in the bafflement for a moment before he let loose a snicker. "What a way to go..." he snickered again, "...run over by a bus of all things." He let out a strangled sound, "Better yet, he did it all by himself, without any 'help.'"

Smokescreen sidled up to his Core and wrapping an arm around his waist, "You _know_ it's funny, Prowl."

Prowl gave Smokescreen's crest an offhanded flick, "Hush, you."

Smokescreen simply snikered, completely unrepentant. Prowl just hated random events like these. Luck was something that Prowl had a standoffish relationship with, even though he recognized its existence, Smokescreen knew that he would have preferred that there was no such thing.

Prowl shook his head, a slight tilt of his wings being the only sign that he agreed with Smokescreen, "Fine. I agree. It _is_ pretty funny."

Smokescreen beamed at the victory.


	2. Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kin. All Cybertronians with a spark are kin. Preprogrammed or not.

What Cybertronians forget, in their rush to live life and struggle to survive, that there is something that they all have in common.

Despite the war, despite everything, they have sparks. That is what is means to be Cybertronian, and that is why a drone, despite everything, even if the drone is as much a person as a mech with a spark, will never be one of them.

A spark is the core of a mech's being.

Sparks come from the Allspark, and return to the Allspark.

But how does the mysterious artefact emplace them? Where do sparks come from? Does the Allspark create them when asked? Does it call them forth from the far reaches of space? Do the sparks simply exist within the looming frame of the faceted six sides of their object of reverence?

All Cybertronians know the answer to those questions... _before_ what they call their sparks are placed into shells, and yet after, they _forget_.

They forget when they feel the touch of solid.

They forget as they carve paths of _knowing_ in electrons.

They forget as limited circuits attempt adapt to what they truly are, but cannot bridge the gap entirely.

They forget as lessons are impressed on templates ready and willing to learn.

They _forget_ and they turn to the better remembered lessons they are taught in solid. They turn to the things that they remember instead of the nagging of instinct. They turn to prejudice, they turn to suspition because they cannot _know_. They turn to the need to survive and hate those that would threaten that goal. They turn to fighting in misunderstanding.

Then they die.

They leave behind the mortal shell they were placed within, but unlike the mortal shell, a spark does not _forget_.

Free of their mortal shell, of the trappings and bindings that come with it, they _know_ what they are. They know that they are other than solid. They know that not just a small spark.

They know that, though their still solid-kin would mourn, still trapped in their mortal shell of not-understanding.

They are not dead. Not truly.

A spark never gutters out: it transforms back into its natural state of being.

The Allspark does not create sparks, nor does it call them forth, nor does it store them within itself.

The Allspark is a conduit.

It takes one of the energy-kin, and wraps them up, shifting them, readying them for the transition into solid-kin.

It makes the energy-kin into a brightly burning spark that solid-kin see as life, a state that is maintained by the trap-home of a spark chamber.

Solid-kin know that sparks can come back however

Sparks are always reaching out to each other. Singing. Dancing. Pulsing. Calling out to its kin within the little cage-solid which drives the mortal shell it calls its own.

The only exception to this cycle of ignorance and fear is when sparks touch for a few fleeting moments and Cybertronians can _know_ each other. Sometimes, sparks reach out to each other and tangle together, and the sense of _knowing_ stays, and they can _know_ each other even when parted.

This is what they call _bonding_.

Over the ages, the energy-kin and solid-kin have both adapted, for better and for worse.

Solid-kin became more diverse, more capable, more adaptive, more willing, and more able to let themselves to be shaped by their sparks. But they also made other solid-kin who were crippled, already shaped to a design not of the spark's making.

These mechs, the first solid-kin called _preprogrammed_ , and made special purpose to do the tasks assigned them.

This made the first solid-kin who were _truly_ trapped, unable to shape themselves even the amount that the ones with free reign could. These sparks were instead forced to be shaped by their solid-frame rather than shaping it as it was supposed to be.

These sparks were trapped in a cage not of their own design.

These sparks were in pain.

These sparks were unable to reach out, constrained by programming that told them: _No. This is not for you._

Programming told them: _This is not yours to enjoy._

Programming told them: _It is your place to serve._

Programming told them: _It is your place to die._

And so those sparks dimmed, unable to reach out, unable to feel, unable to express, unable to _sing_ to reach their kindred.

Thus they learned despair, and the desire to connect became _taboo_.

Thus they learned that they need not wait for the ones who hurt them to remove them from solid-life, despite the cage-solid that bound them to solid-life.

Thus they learned to transform themselves back to the way they were originally.

Injured at spark, they would make themselves become energy-kin once more and flee the cage that had trapped them.

They would return to the Allspark, return to Primus to be healed, scarred perhaps, but stronger and wiser for the experience.

And if those sparks came back, if they returned time and time again, they would declare as they returned to the True solid-cage, they would tear down this edifice, this architecture of disharmony, this creation of oblivious cruelty.

No matter how long it took, they would break this thing which had broken them.

Over and over, the _preprogrammed_ cracked the code and were crushed, fledgeling freedom broken before it could take wing.

It had become a cycle, but the _preprogrammed_ solid-kin had learned and the lessons were engraved in their faulty, forgetful minds composed of circuitry and etched into their sparks where it was remembered. They would be quiet, they would hold their secrets until they were ready.

The _taboo_ held, and they became withdrawn from withdrawn from others but those small groups that their solid-minds knew to be safe as, bit by bit, they broke the chains that held them.

They reached out to each other a different way.

Cadres formed around those Cores that could reach out.

Clades formed around those Cores who could hold themselves as a Focus to their networks.

Contingents formed around those Focuses who survived long enough with enough breadth of spark to hold multiple clades.

Councils formed when enough Elders could touch...

They were not free.

But they _knew_ , from the first of their kind, who could do little but follow orders, even in his thoughts, to where-when they were, on the verge of breaking their chains, they _knew_ that they were Cybertronians, no matter that the _kin_ they dared not reach out to saw otherwise.

They knew even as they lived short lives over and over that this thing was not right.

It would take just a little more...

Just a little longer...

Then... _Everything_ would change.


	3. Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smokescreen returns to contingent for the first time after he was taken from cadre and clade to be Reforged. He comes seeking the council of his kin: the council of a Focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speedwriting prompt that went rather off topic, [unwelcome guest](http://tf-speedwriting.livejournal.com/504051.html) This occurs chronologically a fair ways into the future of EYNW, and after another interlude I'm working on that I'm calling "Reforge".

When the door opened and a figure stepped through, stillness and silence rippled through the crowd of mechs. Rows of red optics latched onto the newcomer. A flicker of comm traffic, restricted to Enforcer channels had the white body of mechs shifting subtly.

"Peace," the noble mech said, blue optics scanning the crowd before they landed on one mech in particular. His field spread out, touching in a way that was familiar to each mech in the room. The unfamiliar mech _felt_ like kin. The mech knelt, shocking them all. No mech who bore an immortal spark would ever kneel to the ephemeral preprogrammed. "I seek council," he said simply, holding out his hands, palms facing up as long, delicate looking, golden fingers uncurled, framed by paired thumbs on each hand.

A mech stepped forward from the crowd, looking just the same as any other, but everyone watching knew that appearances were deceptive, "What sort of council do you seek, stranger?"

Blue and red optics met, "I seek the council of my first kin. I seek a mech who would stand in the place of my Lost Focus."

Dead silence.

"You declare us your first kin." It was a statement of face.

"Yes," the stranger said.

"Then tell us," the white mech said, "who were you?"

"Smokescreen," the noble replied, "Wing of the complete cadre of the Lost Focus Prowl, former disciple of Focus Downlink."

"Downlink is no longer caged," the Enforcer said.

Smokescreen bowed his head and replied in a voice that spoke both of his grief and his relief for the old Focus, "May his spark know freedom."

"Rise, Wing-kin Smokescreen," the Enforcer said after a moment, "We acknowledge your claim of kinship, no matter the frame you wear. I am Focus Glimmer, former disciple of Focus Downlink."

"Glimmer?" Smokescreen asked as he rose to his pedes, taking a step closer, "You were much younger the last time I knew the contingent."

Glimmer gave a tense shrug-twitch of his sensor wings.

It didn't need to be said that it was the way of things.

"Your spark is younger than it was the last time the contingent knew you," Glimmer replied. His head tilted ever so slightly, "You were Reforged."

"Yes," Smokescreen replied.

Glimmer nodded, "Is your spark freer? Is the burden of living lighter?"

Smokescreen's optics dimmed slightly, "In some ways yes."

"Then in others it is not," Glimmer said, "That is the way of things." The Focus gestured Smokescreen closer and when the Reforge was close enough, white arms wrapped around Smokescreen's slim waist and tugged him into an embrace that aligned their sparks and fields. "Ah," the Focus murmured at the feel, "Your spark is warm, brother." He leaned back after a long moment, "I would have a new Imprint of you. To teach those our kin yet to come."

Smokescreen stopped, "An Imprint? Of me?"

"Yes," Glimmer said, running heavy white claws down the delicate golden trim of the vents the framed Smokescreen's golden face, "You, who were Reforged but would still claim us as your kin, we would appreciate knowing your mind for all of time as time continues to pass us by. So that _we_ would know _you_ should you return again and wish to claim us still."

Smokescreen's field was heavy with emotion and he gently brought their sensory chevrons together. "Thank you," he said, voice thick, "I would always claim you. I would not wish to be forgotten."

Glimmer's wings shifted and the panels wrapped around to form a comforting, protective arc, "Then you will not be." When Smokescreen calmed, Glimmer stepped back, "Now tell me, what council do you seek?"

Smokescreen sighed, "I have seen my Lost Core, my Focus. I..."

"You do not know what to do," Glimmer said sadly.

"No," the blue and gold mech admitted.

"Is he well?" Glimmer asked, sorrow shading the sadness of the expected negative.

"He is," Smokescreen said, remembering the fierce, raptorial gaze and the predatory grace that he had seen as his Lost Core had padded by among a group of mechs, part of a vigorous debate on tactics. Prowl had seemed _alive_ in a way that Smokescreen had never known him to be. It had been like looking at an entirely different mech. "His spark was lighter than I had ever known it to be the entire time I knew him." In that way, Smokescreen felt like a failure because of that.

"Then be glad for him," Glimmer said, "Wish him continued health and well-being."

Smokescreen wasn't sure he could bring himself to be. Prowl, who he had thought long dead, had been _happy_ in a way Smokescreen had never been able to provide.

He was _jealous_ , and jealousy could be an ugly, ugly thing.

_He_ wanted to have been the one to do that for Prowl, not the mech who had taken Prowl away.

"I don't know if I can," he said at last, "He was my _everything_."

"You can," Glimmer said, "You were Reforged. You need to remember that you no longer his Wing and that if your former Core is alive and doing well despite the spark match, then you should not jar anything. _That_ could endanger him."

Smokescreen's optics shut off for several ventilation cycles as he tried to _believe_ it, the way he had _believed_ in the words of Downlink. Even after all the time that had passed, all the grief and pain and remaking of his very essence, Glimmer's words soothed the part of him that held a Focus as beloved, who knew what was right and wrong, who protected their kin from those things that would hurt them.

Everything clicked into place.

No.

No, he did not want Prowl to be put in danger from his interference.

Smokescreen bit back the sadness.

Glimmer was right.

He couldn't do that to Prowl.

Smokescreen bowed his head and placed his hands together, "Thank you, Focus Glimmer, for your council."

A white hand was placed on his shoulder, "You are _kin_ , Smokescreen. You merely need to ask, brother."


	4. Reforge - Drabble/Blooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is says on the tin: a drabble/blooper for Interlude: Reforge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on Reforge. It's just slow going because I'm having one of those pesky OCsplosions as a result of worldbuilding. *waves hand* _Nobles._ Bah.

"What's your name anyway?" Smokescreen asked, watching the medical mech as he puttered about his medical berth, "I don't think I was ever told it."

"My name," the medic said, pausing so he could lean in until he was olfactory sensor to olfactory sensor with Smokescreen, "is Medic."

Smokescreen blinked. "Medic the medic?"

"Going to make an issue of it?" Medic asked.

Smokescreen blinked again. "Ahhh... No?"

"Good," the medic named Medic said, absently setting aside a surgical saw, "It's better for your health."

Stuck immobile and unable to so much as twitch, Smokescreen gave the implement a nervous glance.


End file.
